


Toil and Trouble

by Kureiji_Kurai



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brother Feels, Charles Xavier has a Twin, Charles-centric, Confused Erik, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Twins, Mental Instability, Mind Control, Minor Violence, Mistaken Identity, Onslaught is Charles' Twin, Other, Poor Charles, Psychological Torture, Shaw Being Evil, Shaw Being a Manipulative Bastard, Sorry Not Sorry, Telepath War, Telepathic Bond, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kureiji_Kurai/pseuds/Kureiji_Kurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twins are special and rare; perfectly identical ones more so. Twins born with the same mutation, even more so. Charles and Patrick Xavier are anomalies, and the world is never kind to anomalies. </p><p>In a world where Erik was never caged, and Raven was never discovered by her family, there still does not seem to be an option for peace for Charles. Not when his beloved, beautiful, dark minded brother prefers to be called Onslaught.</p><p>Charles Xavier is not known for giving up on those he loves, even if those people follow the darker path. Perhaps he can save the mind of his brother, or could have if they had never met Shaw, but Charles will save his twin or be dragged into the dark abyss with him. Love is a powerful force and Charles will be pulled under or saved by it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of songs: Mercy by Hurts, Us Against the World by Westlife, Lithium by Evanescence, World So Cold by 12 Stones, Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace
> 
> This is basically a longish, multi song fic. Never tried this style before but wanted to. I had the idea to do something with Onslaught because I noticed how very unloved he is. I put a different spin to it, obviously. 
> 
> Additionally, I badly needed something to break me out of my writers block. My existing fics could not simply be song fics so I just made this. It's just me playing music and writing what comes to me until I'm finished with that song or what the song made me think. This being a song fic, I suggest listening to the songs before reading the section but it's up to you.

**1\. Don’t Cry: Mercy**

**There’s Too Much Pain To Come**

Fear was really the only thing he could feel. Fear and dread like water filling his lungs to drown him in his own suffering. Some part of his mind knew that he was twitching and jerking violently in place without progress but a larger part was too incoherent to care. He wanted out, away, and to be safe! He wanted to run and never stop again. If the pain would leave him he knew he would not care where he went. Anything was better than the horror of this cold, dark, torturous place.

In his young life, fear was so often lingering in wait because it had reason to. Even when he was away he knew, always, that there was only so long he could stay safe. If he could only run, just run fast and far away it might be different. The pain might end.

“Charles!” a voice called to him and hands cupped at his sweat moistened face, “Wake up!” The familiar entity demanded and was quickly obeyed.

Gasping and wild eyed, Charles tried to launch himself into a sitting position but was held down by strong arms and focused glacial blue eyes. The frantic motion only caused the blood in his body to pump harder and the pounding of agony to beat with more force inside his skull. His pink lips parted in a whimper as his hands moved to join the ones already cradling his head.

“It’s alright, just relax.” Patrick soothed, stroking his thumbs over the clammy skin of Charles’ temples. His angelically smooth, boyish features and sculpted brows were turned and twisted with worry. Gentle, tender hands stroked their way through matted auburn hair to smooth it back and away from his face.

“Please, please,” the cracked voice hardly sounded like his own, “no more.” Charles still could not shake the dream, could not take a normal breath, and could not stop shaking like a leaf on a blustery day. It was dark and he did not want to stay there. Patrick soothing him did little to make him believe he was really out of that room because his brother was always there too, whispering how things would be fine in just a few minutes. Minutes could be hours though when Kurt was in his moods. When it was like that they both just wanted to die.

The crook of his arm still hurt where the needle had been pushed in too fast and too hard, rupturing a vessel on the way.

“I’m here, I’m right here, Charles. You’re safe now, in your room. It was a dream.” Those intense eyes, mirrors of his own to the exact shade, locked as Patrick pressed their foreheads together, pushing Charles back down all the way to rest in the pillows.

They each closed their eyes at nearly the same time, letting the darkness cover them, bodies pressed together as they shared breaths. Though he could have, and frequently did, Patrick did not have to delve into his brother’s mind to know what he had been dreaming of. They both knew because they both dreamed of the same things. Had they only been dreams it would not have been so horrible, but they were real. Calling them nightmares was easier, safer, distanced.

They had nightmares often and bruises to remind them later that calling it a bad dream did not make it less real. Pretending nothing was happening might get them through the school days but it would not save them when the sun went down and their stepfather came. Their second year of college should have been much happier; more like their first year when he let them live in the dorm.

This day had been worse. Charles had not stopped trembling since Kurt introduced them to that friend of his with big smiles, cold eyes, and grand ideas to “help” them. It had gone so badly Charles could not stay conscious during what must have been the last test, stretched past his body’s ability to function.

A warm hand slipped down to curl around the back of Charles’ neck, mixing with his hair, palm cupped over the spine. It felt so good, made the spikes pounding in his head just a little less even if it did not make sense. He purred his gratitude, sliding a hand up to do the same for Patrick and the latter relaxed, settling his weight over Charles.

They shared everything; hair, face, eyes, secrets, pain… and they shared a gift. Since either of them could remember, they could hear the other thinking, ever present in each other’s mind. While their mother insisted that was only a child’s belief they knew well enough what was true even if they never told her more than once to save being slapped again. She did so want normal children but she birthed them instead.

Charles and Patrick Xavier were close, two sides of a single person, identical twins. Not many could tell them apart on looks alone even after knowing them some time. Understandably, sharing thoughts made them nearly a world unto their own where no one else could reach them.

That changed when they turned eight or nine, slowly beginning to hear other voices intrude into their sanctuary. Together, they learned to block out the voices to a large degree until it was an ever present buzz, a static they simply had to endure. They built walls, shields from it in their minds but learned that there were times stepping out from behind them and listening to the voices could be beneficial.

The servants, for example, liked to hide the cookies and listening in when they brought the groceries inside to be put away was helpful. Taking a peek into the mind of the man that sneaked into their room one night told them he wanted money from their parents as ransom. Making him listen to them in turn had saved them a trip in his car and he never came back.They learned quite a lot together but Charles was always the careful one, always very careful.

When Brain Xavier died in an accident, science co-worker, Kurt Marko, took his place and they gained a new brother. They were all nearly the same age; they were nearly thirteen and Cain was nearly fourteen. Cain was an angry creature though, always pushing them and hitting them every chance he had, when adults were not watching. Patrick wanted to play it logically and throttle him back but Charles had other ideas; gentle Charles tried to help. Being a bleeding heart was the first mistake, according to Patrick.

They only got into trouble if they tried to help, tipping their hand to knowing more than they had any reason to. To date, he hated it when Charles meddled, but they were younger then and still reeling from changes, so less careful. Charles wanted to understand why their step brother was the way he was, and he did. That was when there lives took a turn for the far worse.

They learned there were some minds they never wanted to see into, some plans they were better off not knowing. Being telepaths meant seeing the darker natures people hid but not being able to hide themselves from it made it very different.

Scientists loved twins, loved to work out how they ticked, but telepathic twins might as well have been the holy grail.

* * *

**2\. Us Against The World**

**You and Me Against Them All**

“Xavier, care to give me the answer?” The sharp, irritated male voice cut through sweet oblivion, making Charles jerk his head up, back hitting the hard wood of the desk when he sat up, ruefully realizing he had fallen asleep.

Caught sleeping, always a bad thing. Discreetly wiping drool from the corner of his mouth was equally on the side of unappealing when every head in the classroom had turned to watch him be whittled down to dust in his uncomfortable seat. Small mercy would have been if he had not snored.

Dropping his eyes to the desk rather than looking into the intimidating face was easier for someone that loathed confrontation. Being seventeen, twins, and already second year college students with top marks from the first year made the rich Xavier boys stand out. Teachers always noticed them, called them out for everything, and Charles hated it.

“It’s easy, F cubed over Y square.” Patrick twirled his pen between his fingers, staring down the old Army doctor turned professor, returning a smug smile for the hair raising glare.

Grateful eyes turned to the ever seraphic, if not perpetually haughty face in the seat beside him. Beautiful Patrick, always his savior. He could have hugged him if given a different setting that did not involve the potential rampaging teacher looming like the god of war in front of the first row of desks.

“I was not asking you.” The gruff, hound looking man announced with the indignation of a man refused his humiliation tactic.

“You said Xavier.” Patrick countered coolly, still smiling.

Cloudy gray eyes turned again to the intended target, “Charles Francis Xavier, what is the answer?”

Full name, that was unfair, and it got a few sniggers from his classmates.

Blinking like a deer in headlight, Charles parroted the answer so generously given to him by his brother, much to the sheer indignation of dog-face. The rock wall of a man lumbered back to the front, muttering as he went.

Sinking lower into his chair, Charles sent a mental nudge of thanks toward his brother.

 _Stay awake till lunch, will you?_ Patrick sent back with more humor hiding in the tone than would normally be implied.

_Sorry. I knew I was having trouble holding my head up but I never even noticed I fell asleep._

A hand reached across the divide in the aisle and squeezed gently at his tense shoulder. _No harm done, you loon._

Charles missed the touch when it pulled away but he did not attempt the call it back. People already thought they were strange, commenting on what they referred to as “silent communication” between the brothers. They were already considered too close, too strange, and topics of mass intrigue. Their double dating ㄧ two of them taking one girl to a movie ㄧ was also a topic of oddity. No one understood them or their inseparability.

 _We could have lunch in the music room._ Patrick continued, obviously still thinking. _No one would get in the way of your napping then._

Charles shot a side glance toward his brother, _Does that mean you will play for me?_

Patrick’s chin dipped just a little, _I could be convinced. You like it when I lull you off._

The piano was the only delicate thing Patrick did, and he was a genius at it. They each knew how to play, something else their mother instigated, but Patrick was the one that took to it. Charles took more to a violin than the great mass of wood, wire, petals, and keys.

_I do, very much, always. Hearing you make those elephants sing will always put me right out._

_Oh, how kind of you._ Patrick quipped, lips pulled into a smirk despite himself. _I’m glad I can be boring enough in one thing to bring your massive, egoistic mind into slumber._

_Of course, dear brother. Not everyone can be exciting all of the time, save myself._

Those shocks of blue against lily skin flicked to him, _No, indeed, as no one could ever tire of watching you check your closed eyelids for the answers to the universe._

Charles rubbed his lips together to avoid smiling, _Naturally._

They had once been courted slightly by a music school that fancied making them into a spectacle. One on the piano and one on the violin to stand on stage for people to marvel at because they were a novelty. Kurt had no interest in seeing them doing something feminine but more importantly out of his reach. Had their mother been alive at the time, she would have been overjoyed and insisted. As it was, they only played for their own pleasure, and it was rare now.

They did other things instead.

Cricket and hockey star, Patrick, was well liked and generally feared even for his younger age. He liked the dominant sports that allowed him to vent the simmering anger he could hide from most. Both boys were built much the same but Patrick had more understated muscle throughout his body while Charles, the track team fanatic, was not so big on the upper body strength.

Where Patrick was understated in his brilliance, Charles was quite open with his superior intellect. Respected but not feared and not bullied only because no one dared touch him for fear of Patrick. Charles was a runner not a fighter. Their preferences told quite a lot about their coping methods, actually, if they bothered to psychoanalyze themselves.

Both played polo though, which would be harder to analyze without the understanding that they would do anything to stay away from their own home and would be involved in as much as possible to achieve that. Sports was something Kurt allowed them because having winners as his step children reflected well on him.

The ending of class could not have arrived too swiftly and both were swift in escaping. Lunch was a time they could safely escape the myriad of problems. Their over taxed schedules left little room for peace but the three hour space between class on tuesday and thursday or the two hour gap on the other three, that was heaven. The music room was admittedly a popular place with them since no one went there at that time.

Sandwiches in hand, they sneaked away and slipped into the little place Cain never came looking. Patrick went right to the bench, sandwich set aside as he poised himself, hands hovering over white and black. Charles dropped next to him, legs tucked under him on the padded bench, one bite already clipped from his own sandwich.

Those strong fingers of Patrick’s turned so gentle when they danced over delicate scales. He always warmed up with drills but after that he never played from a sheet, making up a hundred songs on his whim each time they entered their world. Charles listened, pressed to his side as he went through C, knowing each drill by heart and knowing when the real playing would begin.

He finished off the sandwich in a few bites and was more than ready for his lullaby. The music drifted on the air like the songs of birds, sad and pensive, like it was before the coming of winter. The keys sang light and low, and they told stories neither dared say in words. This song was their pain and uncertainty, it was the fear of a cunning new face and a calculating old one, it was about last night. Charles knew it but said nothing, closing his eyes as he listened, settling his head onto that sturdy shoulder of his only safety in the world.

“Sleep, Charles.” The notes shifted from their pained staccato to soothing hums of bonds shared by them alone. “You hardly rested last night.”

Charles moved closer, sliding his face into the hollow of Patrick’s neck, one arm coiled around the back of those shoulders, “I love you. I love you so.”

Never missing a note, he leaned his own head to rest on Charles’, “I love you too. Forever and always.”

“What are we going to do?” Charles whispered, unable to shake free the beginning of the song no matter how sweet it had turned.

Being in the music room felt safe because Patrick was there but it never lasted once they left. The dread as the end of the day moved closer could never be shaken off. Each moment that slipped away meant it was closer to going home. They were safe in this place, but only this, and they could not stay forever. In a world ruled by time and numbers, they had no power. After they turned eighteen they would be free but they had to make it that far.

The song strayed back to the sharp keen of the ugly fear, “What we always do. We stay together. We are unbreakable together.” He smiled, the cheek against Charles’ forehead wrinkling, “We are better than any of them!”

A strange darkness loomed in the notes even as they shifted back to the confidence of all that they made up together, “I know. I love you.” Charles said again, nodding and meaning it all the more, “Never leave me... I could never live without you.”

“Nor I you.” The darkness dropped away and left only the tenderness, “But stop worrying. No one could ever take you from me. We are one and always will be...” Patrick grinned then, “a force to be reckoned with if they try to change us.”

The song stopped suddenly and arms were about Charles’ waist, tugging him off the bench. They relaxed, held tightly to the other, eyes closed as they simply breathed. They found their way to the mats piled in the corner from the sport teams and climbed atop them to curl up together. They both slept better at school than at home.

They stayed there until Raven found them snoring and shook them awake. She always found them, their secret shifter friend with big blue eyes glinting with secrets and long blonde hair she would possess if not for her changed body, and she refused to let them miss a class to their dreaming no matter how they grumbled. The blonde beauty lived ten miles from the Xavier mansion and they grew up together. It was also this girl with a leaning toward daring that had agreed to go on more than a single date with them.

They knew her secret and she knew theirs, but it was only them. They never told Kurt about her because she had kept her secret where they had not. Being skilled enough to hide from her own family earned her a deserving place in their confidence. Hers was not the only secret they kept from Kurt, such as the shy and overly quiet boy with a big brain and big feet, but she was the only one they trusted to keep theirs. She was their only real friend and she had told them as much herself before.

Even she did not know about Kurt or the lab below the surface of the house. Some secrets were too dark to talk about. Some things could only be shared by twins in their own private hell.

* * *

**3\. Drown My Will To Fly**

**Here In The Darkness I Know Myself**

They stayed still, very still, as the two men circled them like sharks in a tank. Their hands were tangled together between them, holding so tightly as they stood like soldiers waiting for an attack, not caring how pleased the gruesome smile of the new face in their hell seemed very interested in their need to support each other.

The boys scarcely dared to breathe, wishing they could have put off coming home for just a little longer.  Cain stood propped against the door, smirking as he watched, blocking an escape he knew Charles would especially love to use.

Once, they had run away when they were thirteen. Each of them gathered what they could carry and climbed out a bedroom window in the dead of night. The sense of freedom had been intoxicating as the ran the whole way to the train station. They stood in the cold, reading the sign to decide where to go when every place sounded perfect because it was not home.

Once they decided on a place as far away as possible, they waited on a bench for their train, huddled close and happy as drunken fools.

Two officers walked to either side of them when the train was thirty minutes away. After asking a lot of questions each officer took a boy in hand and marched them to a waiting car. Apparently Kurt noticed sooner than expected and every officer had orders to retrieve the wayward Xavier twins so they did not bother fighting. Had they Raven’s skill they could have, but they did not. Once in the station they were “reunited” with a tearful Kurt Marko gushing with hugs and blubbering.

The next day Kurt called the school to inform them that his boys had gotten a very terrible flu. Their next four days were spent in the lab while their step father stayed home to care for them day and night. He never even let them go to bed.

They never tried to run away again.

The stranger stood behind them and ran the tips of his fingers up the backs of their necks at the same time, making bolt flinch, “Fascinating.” The snake-oil voice mused, and they knew from past experience that when Kurt used words like that when he looked at them, it was never a good thing. "Hair and eyes the same shade." His fingers ran up into Charles' hair.

Charles' simply stopped breathing as those fingers raked  along his scalp and slid into the longer hair at the top, ruffling and fluffing it before brushing it back into place to have it lay the correct way. It rankled, making him feel like an animal being pet. Aptly something along the lines of a lab rat, which was terrifying considering no one worried about the little white rat in the glass case.

"Do you have them cut it the same or is that their choice?"

Before Kurt could answer, Cain chimed in, "Theirs. They like to keep people confused. It's their game."

The laugh that burst from him, rumbling into the twins backs, felt like shards of glass, "In their place, I might find myself doing the same." He mused, glancing at Kurt before walking around the boys again. “Perfectly identical.” 

“Well, if you study them closely enough, there are a few differences beyond the usual things like fingerprints. Charles has more freckles and Patrick has several more scars from his sport activity. Patrick is physically stronger as well.” Kurt offered, crossing both arms over his broad chest.

“Ah,” The man with the breathy, smooth voice lifted a finger as he prowled to the side of them, “But they were not born with those. Are there differences they were born with?”

Kurt nodded, “Charles has no birthmark.” He reached out suddenly and snatched Patrick’s left arm into the air, tugging the sleeve back to expose the wrist, “Patrick does.”

“What of their power?”

The twin’s tightened their fingers together, knowing nothing good would follow a question of that nature. Questions lead to hours of tests and the two of them getting no rest. The entirety of the lowest level was dedicated to that question. Their step father had file upon file with notes covering that question. Now this stranger would begin it afresh, from “new angles” as it were. There would be needles and electrodes stuck to their bodies. It was assured to be painful at multiple points. It also usually meant they were instructed to make demonstrations, such as taking over Cain’s very unwilling mind and making him a puppet between them, which only encouraged their mutual hate.

* * *

**4\. What Kind Of World Do We Live In**

The theory is that there are many worlds and that those worlds have different events within their sphere. Tiny changes can prevent the events from one universe from ever having happened in another. It is infinite in its potential, and it is all quite true. The lives of these worlds tend to exist and be born at similar times over history and they tend to have similar, if not occasionally identical personalities in many. Adversely, they can also develop into their opposite in accordance with shaping events.

Things happening in those lives are always different but some things can be inevitable even if they happen differently and at different times.

Wars are skipped in some worlds only to happen later for different reasons, taking a toll on a different generation. Some people will always cross paths even if they meet in completely different ways and settings, or even if they mean different things to each other from world to world, they still mark the life they were intended to.

Most of all, things that should not exist in any world often manage to work their way into most of them. Even so, the choice of one person can change everything, saving or dooming all in their world the way it is not done in any other universe. No one can predict the alterations one life can have on a world and no one is meant to.

If power is placed with some in one world though, it can change everything. Power is another thing that does tend to travel the realms, but not always. Skills do tend to travel from one world to the next, especially inborn skills. That is true in the case of a race often called “Mutants” if or when they exist. Not every world discovers why they came to exist but some do while others are wrong.

In the particular case of Mutant leadership, some tend to naturally surface among all others. Erik Lehnsherr is one such man with great skills. He is born caged in some worlds, captured young in others, but still others let him live freely. Consistently, he encounters a man named Shaw and is darkened by him in one way or other. There are only a few worlds in which he does not knowingly meet Shaw.

In one of those same worlds, his typical rival and friend is born even more unusually than most. There is, however, an especially great difference in the world where something dark is born beside the powerful telepath named Charles. Neither begin life darkly, but one is slowly tainted. He is one of those beings that should not exist, yet does. Things could have been different in this world for both had it not been for a man named Kurt Marko.

Twins: Charles and Patrick Xavier could have lived well, but one man changed it, as is so often the case. It was unfair, but few things are.

Yes, in this world Erik was never caged and never was discovered by Sebastian Shaw. Charles and Patrick Xavier, however, were.

* * *

**5\. I Can’t Escape Myself**

**So many Times I’ve Lied**

**But There’s Still Rage Inside**

Charles leaned over the table, tapping a line of the paper with the end of his pen. His teeth worked thoughtfully at his lower lips as his mind worked the equation over. A few slides perched haphazardly along the white table beside the microscope. Group projects were never a favorite, he always hated them. He equally loathed the assignment; having the test blind samples to find out what they were was tedious and irritating.

Hank McCoy’s short brown hair had been about all he had seen of his lab partner for the better part of ten minutes. Those glasses were nearly smashed into the young man’s face as he pressed as close as possible to the metal creature and peered through the scope.

His eyes darted to his second partner. The later stared out the window, baseball in hand as he determinedly tried to prove he had no intention of contributing to the assignment. Interestingly, Charles was stuck with two young men that could never have been more different if they actively tried. The blond, handsome, strong, popular, athletic Alex Summers with his dominant personality could have filled a room by himself. He looked like most sport stars did at his age and his looks and muscles would only get better with age. Smart though, as a whip, already taking college classes even though he was in high school. Hank’s mousy shyness, enormous brain that got him into college even earlier than Charles, thick glasses, lack of social skill, and utter lack of confidence was palpable in his difference. Not bad looking and very tall but his lack of confidence and age made him a target for most, especially those jealous of his potential. Smart did not even cover it with Hank, even brilliant was not enough. Alex staunchly refused to let anyone know he had a brain beneath his muscle and Hank had the answer to the entire sheet already but was pretending to still be working on the second with them. What a pair!

“So, obviously these two substances can be bonded. What do they create? What is the bond?” Charles knew the answer but he was trying desperately to maybe, potentially get his partners to actually say words.

“It is a dative bond.” Hank finally, finally spoke, albeit quietly, lifting his head just enough to reveal his blue eyes with the starburst of orange hinting from the center, “In a water molecule, the oxygen atom gives a pair of electrons to create a dative bond with a hydrogen ion, forming hydronium.”

The smile Charles gave was very real, beaming really, at finally getting more than one word out of the poor boy. “Marvelous!” Thank God they could move on even if it was not very hard!

“Nerds! Only nerds would be so ecstatic about scientific hocus pocus.”

Charles, more than slightly annoyed, shot Alex a glare, “Don’t be glib, you knew the answer too and would not admit it.”

Dull gray-blue eyes blinked at him in confusion, “I didn’t say anything.” That athletic structure tensed and his young but well formed features crinkled in a frown, “How did you know I had the answer?”

Panic zipped up Charles’ spine and his lips moved before he thought it through, “Oh, uh...Your face nearly screams what you are thinking and you wrote down your answer already.”

Not actually a bad response. He was so bloody awful with spurofthemoment lies.

It was so rare for him to make such a mistake, to have heard a thought and not realize it was nothing but a thought. Something about Alex was so much harder to read and so much more chaotic than most. That was frightening and he realized he would need to be more careful. Knowing things he was not supposed to was how Kurt discovered him.

That seemed to sooth both other men, especially consider Hank’s heart was simply pounding at the thought of his forced lab partners getting into a fight. McCoy was a peaceful kid not prone to causing trouble and he was no fan of those that did. The elder Summers boy was known for his rather short fuse even if he only took a hand full of classes there and Hank had no desire to be anywhere near a fight. His suppressed thoughts, on the other hand, were rather malign and could equally be considered witty. Hank was not a fan of Alex.

“At any rate, we are all better at this than we are currently letting on. Some better than others, of course, but this will move along much better if we cooperate.” Charles gave each a pointed look.

“The next answer is-” Hank began to fall into his typical role of being the answer provider.

Charles cut him off, “No, I mean share information rather than working alone. It is a group-”

Alex was next to cut in, “Covalent Solid.”

Charles’ shoulder slumped forward, expression falling, “Or we could just work alone at our respective microscopes and just trade slides and descriptions. Compare notes at the end. Because we are antisocial.”

“Who cares? We were forced to be here! We don’t have to be friends.” Alex leveled the telepath with a challenging look of sheer defiance. Bravado could not fool Charles, however. Sadly, the truth was he was afraid of being wrong in front of others. He was not allowed to be wrong at home. It was less about ego and more about self preservation.

He was so frightened so much of the time over so many things. There was a power bubbling inside that he hardly knew how to control. Most of the time he could lock it away in his body and not let it out but he knew there would be a day he would slip. His fear of his power only fed it, magnified it and made it more dangerous, like self fulfillment. Something bad would happen and he knew it, waited for it.

His abusive adoptive father made matters far worse. As hard as playing at perfect was, it had been worse in the foster homes, so he was determined. They wanted the boy to be a replacement, the perfect child they lost. No one could live up to a ghost. Alex tried to be perfect but no one could be everything a family wanted their deceased son to have become. Failure was punished, punished because grief was sacherating the house even with Alex to fill the gap.

Sadness simply rolled off that boy, projecting it all a bit too loudly when Charles was close. It made him want to cry but more than that, it made him want to fix it. His mother always scolded him for bringing home wounded animals, but as he grew up, the animals turned to wounded people.

Alex was a bully, but bullies were wounded first before they entered that roll. Often, Charles had learned, they were the most damaged of all, desperate to abate their own pain. This boy was a little like Cain without the vicious desire to inflict pain and torture for the simple pleasure of watching others suffer. He did not want to see Alex turn into such a twisted individual.

“What are you staring at me for?” Alex growled low, startling Charles from his thoughts.

“Was I? I’m sorry, I was unaware. I was just thinking.” The telepath looked to the table quickly even if he knew it was too late. Alex had felt him hovering under the surface of his mind, not liking what he felt even if he had not understood the meaning.

It was rather well known how easy it was to set the boy off so Charles was not shocked when he slapped his hands on the table and stood. “What is your problem?”

Dread spiked high and rolled off of Hank in waves because he also understood what was coming. Honestly, all Hank wanted was to get a simple assignment done in peace and he was not sure why that seemed to be such a hard concept. What was wrong with people these days? Why did no one use the brain they had? He was already debating over exactly what he should do about “Mr. Explosive-temper” to prevent a poor fellow brain from having some of his brilliance beaten out of him. Hank was a very kind, though nervous person at heart.

Alex was still hovering even if Hank was thinking as loudly at this point. It was interesting that both were feeling some for of fear.

Charles looked up again, understanding fully that nothing he did now would improve his situation, but he was known for his meddling ways, “You look so sad most of the time, your eyes never have the slightest spark of joy. I could not help thinking you might be a little happier if you let someone help you.”

There was open shock in his eyes for a moment before fear re-took its place, “Help me?” Alex scoffed with all the venom he felt, “You mean you? Some weak little rich boy is going to help me? Help me with what?” Anger was a shield, though a good one.

“Help you smile, maybe? Because it seems to me you only know how to flaunt your anger while you try to protect yourself.” Charles was smiling, but only slightly, his voice soft with meaning, “I think if you let someone be your friend… and a sport team does not count because you never speak to them about anything other than sport related topics... but a real friend, it might help you. You should have the chance to relax on at least a few occasions.”

With a sigh, tenting his fingers under his chin, Charles persisted, “You don’t have to be perfect even if you think you do, but more than that, you should not have to pretend to be things you are not. While you are skilled in sports, you are not a mindless basher the way you seem to think you-”

Fingers were hooked into his cardigan and jerking him up moments before a fist crashed into his jaw, but Charles was not taken off guard, he knew it would come. Alex did not let go, stretching the material into possibly permanent finger marks, and Charles let his head loll to one side while the pain dulled.

Alex studied him so closely, waiting for a reaction, for fear, for a plea, but he gained nothing but a sad smile. Hank was more panicked than Charles, already on his feet, nearly vibrating in place as he contemplated what to do. Charles lifted his head and gazed into those wary and slightly regretful eyes. That was the difference between Alex and Cain; regret, remorse, and heart.

“You’re a weird cat, you know that?” Alex growled, fist still ready.

“And I suppose violence is the only way you know how to deal with that.” Charles was relaxed in the hold, nearly letting the other boy hold him up by the shirt, his own arms held loosely at his sides. “I notice you pulled your punch though.” Charles smiled wider even though it hurt a little, “That was kind of you to hold back.”

“How would you know if I did?” Alex challenged, glaring and still threatening to bring another strike.

“My tongue and observation skill tends to get me into trouble more than you might expect.”

“Then learn to keep it to yourself.” Alex hissed, glancing at Hank, doing all this for show more than anything at this point since the anger was long gone. Anger against someone not fighting or even being malicious was not the young man’s skill. Even so, there was still fear, the kind that screams of worry that someone knows secrets they should not. Secrets breed the fear of having them exposed.

“I have never been good at leaving well enough alone. I think everyone deserves to smile and have a reason to hope.” Charles gripped that thick wrist still near his throat, “And if hitting me makes it better, I don’t particularly mind. So long as you understand that you don’t have to be alone, I’m happy enough.”

The knuckles were back to crash against the same place, but it was less force than the first time. That one got him tasting blood though.

His lack of resistance unnerved Alex, not used to such a lack of reaction

Before Charles had even felt him near, too overloaded by Alex, Patrick was flooding his entire being. Patrick was everywhere and Charles gasped in surprise when Alex ended up smashing into a wall. The blonde seemed as shocked as anyone, reeling and using the wall to hold him up.

His twin was in a rage, oppressive and suffocating, cricket bat already pulling back for a swing. Hank might as well have been frozen with his wide eyes and death grip on the table, but his mind was whirling like a park ride. Charles did not have time to think, only to move and positively throw himself in front of his previous attacker.

Patrick stopped short, almost pulling a muscle with how quickly he pulled back, “Charles! What are you doing now? Move!” It was practically growled.

“No, no!” Charles yelped, “It’s fine!”

“Like hell it is!” Patrick barked. “I saw him hit you!”

Alex was as shell shocked as Hank and he simply stood, waiting for the next shift. Being hit was nothing new and he fell into his typical roll of staying still assuage to anger.

“It’s fine, really!” Charles is quick to assure, almost tripping over his words in his haste.

“No one touches you here!” Patrick is seeing red and Charles hears every piece of the meaning hiding in those words and hears the helplessness of it too.

Holding out both hands, he scrambled to placate, shoving at the bat with the tips of his fingers, “It was a misunderstanding! Just calm down, please? Don’t hit him with that thing, alright?”

“I don’t really care what it was.” Patrick is not at all put off by his brother pleading, “He started something that I will finish!”

“No!” Charles grabbed hold of the boy’s arm without even looking back, “Look at him! You see the bruises? You know finger marks are different from sport injuries!” Those blue, blue eyes squinted, sympathy rolling from them in waves even as Alex jerks away, “He is like us!”

“No one is like us!” Patrick’s sharp rise in volume and intensity made all of them jump, “Just because he can lie and say he ran into a door does not make him like us!” For the second time Charles is grabbed by the shirt and pulled forward, but this time gently even if the intensity behind it is still there, “At least here I can protect you!”

Silence falls over all of them. So many secrets have been spilled out onto the floor in such a short time but Charles cannot seem to notice because he is too busy smiling the sad smile his brother knows only too well and his fingers are uncoiling a fist from his shirt to hold it instead. Patrick is deflating fast and the bat hangs limp at his side.

As is often the case, it is Charles that breaks the silence, “I don’t need you to defend me. We are equals.”

There is bitterness in the clap of humorless laughter and neither twin even remembers the other two boys in the room any longer; they forget about the world often, “But he hates you more and you know it.”

“Because I’m the weakest.” Charles agrees and is shocked when Patrick is nearly in his face.

“No, Charles, because he doesn’t know how to break you! Even after all this time, he still can’t figure it out.”

This time it is Charles who laughs, a single brow arched, “It is not that hard.”

There are equal parts fondness and misery in the smile Patrick offers, “You already outlasted me.”

Charles surges forward, arms clinging tightly around his brother and whispering over and over, “You’re not broken. Never think it. You’re not broken.”

Hank and Alex never moved and might have stopped breathing for all the sound they made. It was quiet as the dead and none of them were willing to change that. The twins were off in a different world and it was obvious by the distant looks in their eyes. People knew when they were having those silent conversations and it seemed too private to watch but also mesmerizing to a scientific mind. Hank was fighting all his urges to take down notes of the strange things he was observing considering he had never seen the twins interact before. Still, tact would dictate that he wait to jot down his thoughts on the matter.

“Sleepy.” Charles suddenly muttered and had his brother by the elbow, tugging him away without preamble.

Hank met those eyes for the most fleeting of moments, short enough he might have thought it never happened if not for the slight smile offered before the lookalikes were simply gone. It seemed that the two simply stopped caring if Alex or Hank were there and maybe that was best. The things they had said were a little too shocking and disturbing to actually start discussing. He could not help looking over at Alex and seeing him with new eyes though. He would pretend he had not understood what Charles said for the other boy, muttering loudly enough to be heard when he said that twins were strange, but he missed nothing. Part of him thought Charles, for whatever reason, wanted him to see, like he was sharing something with Hank, trusting him with things. There had been so much hiding in that fleeting smile that Hank was sure of a lot of things. He would pretend otherwise though, as always.

Later, Charles found his homework finished for him in McCoy’s hand. He also noticed that Hank seemed to suddenly make an effort with Alex if they were near one another even if the blond tossed insults his way. A big heart to go with big feet.

He forgot all about that day after they went home the next night to find Shaw visiting three days early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is AU, obviously, but with some First class cannon as well. It's just different. A little choppy I guess but also won't be very long.  
> For once, Erik is not the one with the biggest chip on his shoulder. And um, you know, James McCavoy in double. Can't go wrong! And I finally get to jump on the Onslaught train.


	2. Westchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are: Lights Out by Breaking Benjamin, Fix You by Coldplay, Fear by OneRepublic. For Fix You, I did however listen to the acoustic cover with Tyler Ward on youtube because it felt more like Charles to me somehow, the way they did it.

**6\. After the Lights Go Out On You**

**After Your Worthless Life is Through**

**I will Remember How You Scream**

**I can’t Afford to Care**

Such wide, wide eyes stared almost blankly at the soaking wet figure standing by the fountain. Matching blue eyes stared back, but Patrick was smiling with too many teeth, a foreign sort of smile with no mirth and all manic depth. The moon glistened brokenly in the rippling waves of the water in the fountain as the breeze played around the scene that should have been peaceful but was just too gruesomely surreal to sink in.

Charles could hardly take a breath as he stared, hands gripping his head in an attempt to force calm even though he could not keep from trembling. There was nothing coming from his brother, nothing he could hear, like watching a character in a movie. He cannot bring himself to look full on at the fountain, only starring as Patrick stood in the center, water sprinkling him from behind, hair partly wet and partly dry. It was dark, late but Charles found himself terrified that the water might be so black because of blood but he really could not bring himself to step closer to find out.

How long he had been standing on the path he honestly has no idea, but he finally found his voice, quaking though it may have been, “Patrick?”

“Yes, Charles?” The tone of his twin was casual, so very easygoing.

“What happened?” That was really the best he could do, especially when his eyes flicked down to the lumpy shadows.

“Well, Charles,” Patrick started whimsically, stepping from the water, his shoes making small lakes of themselves, “I had a revelation today in psychology. I realized that fear causes you to be illogical. They talked about conditioning… like what happens to soldiers, wars, abuse victims, mob mentality… that kind of thing.” Both hands shot up in a dramatic shrug, “And it hit me!”

“What hit you?” Charles was hesitant but found his voice just a little more, chewing the corner of his lip as he ventured a step forward.

“We have been stronger than them all along!” He was shouting now, almost gaining a flinch for his skittish twin, “We just never realized we didn't have to put up with what he did! We could have made it because we are smart enough! We could run this place without Kurt and no one could stop us!”

Charles was doing his level best to calm down, he had even managed to drop his arms to his sides at some point, “I don’t know if I follow.”

“Charles,” Patrick shifted to a patronizing tone, brows arch quizzically, “you would if you thought about it! We never needed our step father, and consequently, never had to take any of his shyte. The two of us have more power than any of them, which is why they worked so hard to keep us in control!”

There were a thousand questions unvoiced in the slight upturn of his brows, ever expressive in the small shifts of his facial muscles, “They?” Another step brought Charles closer than he really cared to be, enough to see as well as he had the first time.

“Kurt, Cain, Shaw! Maybe everyone!They knew to fear us so they kept us afraid of them, made us believe we had no choice, even though we do!” Patrick was getting louder by the minute.

Charles turned his voice to a whisper in hopes of bringing him lower as well, “How did…” He could not finish, he simply could not finish when his eyes lowered to those two figures bent limply over the side of the fountain.

“How did Kurt and his demon son end up drowning?” Patrick finished for him, shrugging, “How would I know?”

“You were in the fountain!” Charles found his own voice rising now, “People don’t just kneel beside a fountain, stick their heads in, and nap! What the bloody hell happened?”

Patrick’s chilly tone nearly caused his twin’s legs to drop him, “I might have...suggested it to them.” But the slow motion of his words did not last as he nearly burst from himself with rage, “Kurt was going to bring Shaw back and use the box again! He laughed and asked Cain if he wanted to bet how long you lasted this time!” The crazed look of hate filled those once familiar eyes as the two stared at each other, “I swore I would never let them do that to you again…” Patrick’s voice broke and the fight seemed to drain out of him, “ever.”

Charles was wrapped around the wet and shaking creature in the next breath, whispering assurances before he even knew what he was saying. He meant them though. He could not feel anything from his brother but he could see it. Somehow they would fix things. There was no way he would let anyone take Patrick away. They would think of a way to fix it! But as he looked to the fountain and the very lifeless bodies, he had no idea how.

It took them only a few minutes before they began to plan.

The worst task was dragging the bodies from the fountain but he followed Patrick anyway. Charles almost did not handle that, not when bulging open red eyes stared back, but he somehow dragged them to the garage with his brother and got Kurt into the front seat of one of the cars and Cain into the back. The head was floppy but he could not help noticing how solid the chest and underarms felt. He could feel a lot of the main muscles being very hard to move even though they moved it relatively soon.

It took everything Charles had not to fall to pieces even if there was some frantic breathing with his head between his knees after the fact. Mercifully, they took a respite from the tasks involving being near the car.

Over the next few hours, they plotted, planned, and called the airport to book tickets for Kurt and Cain Marko. If all went well, people would not be looking for them right away even though they would not be making that plane. Just the hint of a pending trip might be enough. When the police asked it would give them something to say at least.

Charles paced while Patrick changed clothing, talking much faster than he ever did normally. By the time his twin was dressed and his hair brushed into normalcy, Charles had thought up every question a person of law enforcement could ever ask or dream. All Patrick did was smile and shake his head as he walked past wordlessly. It made him painfully uneasy how amused the situation, or maybe his panic seemed to make his brother but he said nothing.

When they got into the car Charles sat plastered to Patrick’s side as they drove, nearly turning inside out every time they turned a corner and Kurt would shift; Patrick buckled him in to make it look better and managed at some point to get those eyes closed but it hardly helped. Charles felt ready to crumble at any point even if he seemed mainly calm. He liked to think of himself as brave but being beside a dead body, and one of a man he spent many years dreading the sight of alive, well, that was pushing it. He never screamed though, not once, even if part of him wanted to just scream out everything he felt, words or no words.

When they arrived at the lake they positioned the car for a trip around the rails of the bridge, pushed Kurt into the driver seat, then made it drive over. They watched it go, hoping it would go deep enough that no one would ever find it. The splash was so loud it made Charles jump and burrow into Patrick, just sure the world had heard that noise and would be after them.

Gasping and pawing the air did Charles little good, the jolting up even less for his aching head. God, he already needed a drink and it was probably not much past two in the morning, if that. His hand scrubbed at his face, reminding him with the slight tingle that he would have to shave or look quite scruffy for early classes. His chin hit his chest as his eyes closed, smooth auburn hair falling into his eyes just slightly, the vision still dancing in his head no matter how he wanted to forget. It had been years since the night Kurt… went missing and yet he still had nightmares.

“Can’t sleep?” Arms wound around Charles’ middle, making him jump and jerk his knees defensively to his chest even as he was pulled back down to the mattress.

“Where were you? I waited up.” Charles let himself be moved and positioned against a strong chest, not relaxed but not fighting either.

The sheet were a mangled mess from his likely frantic thrashing in his sleep but Patrick managed to get a blanket unwound enough to pull over them both, “Out. I’m twenty two, brother dear. There is no curfew.”

This was not their first talk on the subject, not even close.

They were roommates in the dorm now, taking advanced classes for other fields, though not at the same school as they had been at eighteen; they moved up in the world, up and far away from the old home. Patrick rarely slept in his own bed though, especially if he came in late.  Though Patrick had always been more frequently in his brother’s bed than his own even in the younger days.

Charles squeezed the thick bicep of his twin, fighting back all thoughts he did not care to dwell on and keep them from being heard, “We agreed! You said you would be home every night by the time I was.” He sounded snappish and did not care.

A gruff huff pushed past closed lips, “As if it matters! You can’t try to save my virtues now. Some are not worth saving anyway.”

“Don’t start!” There could be so many ways to take what his brother said and he was terrified to try at times.

Fingers raked over auburn hair and massaged Charles’ scalp, “Why do you worry so much? Think I might kill someone when you’re not looking?”

Desperately, desperately, Charles clutched his emotions into himself, burrowing them low to hide how much just hearing those words frightened him, “Just be home, will you?”

Something in that smooth tone turned a few shades darker, almost making Charles shiver, “Are you trying to cage me, sweet Charles? I thought you learned by now-”

He refused to feel fear when speaking to the only person that ever made him feel safe, the fear was not of being hurt himself anyway,  “What is so bad about wanting you here when I go to sleep?”

“I would not mind if that was all there was, but it isn’t, I think.” Just that quickly Patrick was over him, pushing him into the bed with both hands planted on Charles’ shoulders, “You will never forgive me, will you?”

Frowning, Charles pushed at his chest in an attempt to tip the heavy form, “I will always forgive you, always have.” The naggin bite of worry would not leave, not when those pretty eyes looked so dark.

“But you never forget! Trust is different, right, brother?” There was acid in those words and he seemed to notice the way it made the target for them flinch.

Charles began to struggle in earnest, bucking and shifting, “You’re hurting my arms, get off!”

Slowly, he did, resting his elbows on either side of Charles’ head, “I don’t want to fight. Let me in.” He prompted with a gentle smile, bussing the tips of their noses, mood suddenly shifted completely, “You never used to hide from me. You never used to shut me out.”

That smile and those gentle eyes were the same he had known all his life and he found himself already draping his arms around that neck, “I’m sorry.” Charles whispers, and means it, forgetting to be guarded when he never wanted to start, “I miss you.”

“I miss you more.” Patrick crooned, his lips brushing Charles’ temple.

Charles leaned into their contact, allowing it to sooth him. He can forget, he knows it, because he has before. Forgetting was easier than not having his brother. All it took was locking his fear, anger, doubt, and worry in a tiny room in his mind. Each of them had a locked room now. There used to be no such thing, never a shield kept up between them until the night he came home late and found his brother standing in a fountain. That night he had not been able to get near Patrick’s mind, blocked out as he had never been before. The next day, Patrick’s mind had a locked space. If he went too close sometimes he thought he heard Kurt’s scream and then he simply did not want to know. Once that happened, Charles needed one too just to file away the nagging worry and the questions he did not want his twin to hear. They never talked about those spaces and neither of them tried to unlock those doors.

Patrick rested their foreheads together and Charles dropped his shields, letting his brother sweep into fill him completely to the brim and doing the same in return. They curled together, pressed as tightly as they could get, mentally and physically. They fit together like a single body and mind, arms twined, breaths synced, and minds connected like lost and lonely lovers. Their minds whispered love and affirmation in a continuous loop. Patrick's arms and hands pulled at Charles, working them closer because simply close was never enough, they had to be absorbed together. Charles never minded, letting himself be nearly suffocated in his twin's need for connection.

They slipped into a familiar posture, hands curled around the backs of necks,  warm palms flat over the spine. It was like coming home, wrapped in warmth, like a blanket and pillow fort only they could enter. They shut each other out at times when they argued, stubbornly only skimming the surface of each other for a few weeks, but they never lasted long.

* * *

 

**7\. When You Lose Something You Can’t Replace**

**Love Someone But It Goes to Waste, Could It Be Worse**

**Lights Will Guide You Home, and Ignite Your Bones**

**And I Will Try to Fix You**

The burning behind his eyes was still there no matter how many times he blinked and rubbed at them. Charles set the page down and flexed his stiff fingers, pushing slightly away from the desk. His head dropped back onto the soft headrest and his sky blue eyes stared blankly above at the woodwork. Oak, or possibly pine, he could not tell from that distance considering it was vaulted, or that is what he told himself. The truth was probably closer to the fact that he could hardly read the words on the pages right in front of his face without going cross eyed.

Still, he refused to close his eyes. He can’t. Sleeping is rare for him these days. What little he gets is taken at his desk at home, in the uncomfortable and cramped hole at the base some spaces away from Moira, in some library or other, or here in the private archives of the wealthy man running the little operation he has gotten himself mixed with. Fingers rubbing circles over his temples does nothing to soothe the horrible ache that has settled there for days. He would take something but it might make him sleep and that just seems worse than the pain.

Going to bed alone seems so very wrong even after so many years of it. Waking up alone is worse still. He used to drink himself unconscious but that never helped with waking up. There was a time he would also bring a girl home just so he could have a warm body to fall asleep with and wake up to but even that novelty lost its shine after some time.

All he wanted was his brother, flaws and all. Some thought him obsessed if they knew the reason he began working for the government, but not many did. And why should they? But more, why should they care why he came so long as he did? Moira, the woman he first found, or rather, mutually discovered considering she was also looking for him, only knew most of the story. She was his handler since the day he found her at the college, looking for the biology professor that was looking for the agent that claimed to have seen the mad scientist named Shaw. Well, it worked somehow.

They would not have let him in had he been less of a wealth of information regarding the man with quite a dark resume; or rap sheet, rep sheet, whatever they called it. That included kidnapping, drug dealing, human experimentation, murder, gun smuggling (to any buyer), money laundering, and much more. The CIA was looking for the ghost of a man that seemed to run half of the criminal activity on their side of the world, and Charles knew a thing or three about him. Quite an in, if he did say so himself.

They let he and Moira essentially run point, along with their avid supporter who also provided the facility they used to house, train, and hide within. Agent Moira MacTaggert brought him in and from there he had found Hank; poor, confused, and still very shy McCoy. Seeing Charles again after he vanished from classes for almost two weeks before returning in poor health, then vanished and subsequently transferred after his stepfather was reported missing seemed to be a shock.

Perhaps the initial; “Hello again, Hank! I have a job offer for you, should you accept it… and before you ask, I’m hoping you will be able to help me find more people like us, with our special sorts of talents. It is with the CIA, perfectly legitimate.” might have been what threw him, but Hank recovered rather well.  The last time they saw each other, Hank had been just turned fifteen, Charles seventeen and a few  weeks shy of eighteen; Charles was twenty-eight now. Rather well indeed.

Thank God he did not ask where Patrick was, and still had not after almost five months of seeing one another almost every day. He thought it, along with many other things, but he never asked. He had some very keen senses and he was rather good at avoiding topics. It seemed he expected people to offer information if they wanted him to know, which was an excellent strategy. Too bad Charles never adopted that way of thinking, but if he had, Lehnsherr would not have been his next recruit. Lucky for him, after taking a few punches from the German, he was able to reason with the man. Desperate men would agree to quite a lot, especially ones looking to outrun arrest warrants. Besides, he had a family he rather wanted to see more than a few days a year while he ran.

He stumbled onto the man by chance in a bar, without the help of Hank’s invention. Even though he was rugged, strong like a rock wall, and gruff, there was screaming vulnerability that called to Charles. Erik was in need but of more than just amnesty, he was alone. Alone was something Charles could understand. Telepaths tended not to be well liked even if no one knew they could read minds because a telepath always knew too much, and that worried people. He and Patrick had never been able to miss the comments from the servants even when they were young. When two little boys knew the upstairs maid was pregnant before she did, and that it was the chauffeur’s baby, it was considered unnerving.

As it turned out, Metalbenders that used their skill for high security theft were also not very well liked. However, they made excellent partners when searching out other skilled people. Charles never showed off his skill because, again, it was unwelcome, so having a strong mutant with very showcase worthy skills made for great success, and also entry without technically breaking. They had made a good team somehow, different though they were, and Erik slightly reminded him of Patrick. If one gained the hard won trust, Erik was rather loyal and kind, even protective. His shark quality smile could frighten hardened criminals into returning to a jail nearest them, but he was a good soul deep down, a diamond hiding deep under sharp rocks.

With help of Erik and Hank, they found a slightly spacy young man with red hair and a healthy set of lungs named Sean Cassidy, an angry and sad young beauty with shimmering wings ironically named Angel Salvadore, and a lighthearted young man that could roll with the punches and adapt to literally any situation named Armando, though he was insistent upon being called Darwin. Then twelve days prior, he finally met Alex Summers again. Seven days after that, he found Raven. He knew where the last two were from the start but he bided his time because they were far closer to his past. 

Admittedly, he had been afraid of seeing Hank, but Hank was such a careful, thoughtful creature that he had not been so worried; the other two were different, especially her. But he braved the first easily since he had Erik by his side, almost like having that second half, so Alex hardly blinked. It was almost insulting that Patrick’s absence only mildly registered with the sturdy blonde. Charles was glad of it though and more pleased when it was so easy to convince the young man to come away.

Raven was something entirely different though. He nearly had not been able to get out of the car when he and Lehnsherr pulled up to the shady apartment she stayed in after striking out on her own as an up and coming actress, or actor depending on the name and face she used. He could see it, see her doing well at it, and he was hardly shocked that she too had run away from home. She was exactly the sort a camera would love; blonde, sleek, graceful, poised, beautiful, and could smile and flirt her way into any man’s heart.

Not even noticing his hesitation, Erik marched up to her door and pounded on it before Charles knew what was happening, and then it was too late. Her pretty young face was peering at them long before he could call a retreat; when she saw Erik's handsome face and swept back, dark blonde hair she had been interested, but the second her eyes hit Charles she was grinning like a child and there was no getting away. They did need her skills badly anyway. What a spy she would make! Information gathering would be so simple with her on their side.

After she hugged his neck hard enough to nearly snap it, he had felt the question rolling up and forestalled her with: “Raven, my love, we have a lot to talk about! My visit is not strictly for pleasure.” At her raised eyebrows, he knew he caught her attention, “I also have a job offer for you.”

She listened eagerly after that and forgot every question she had been ready to ask as he spun her a tale. Never one to worry over personal boundaries, she shocked Erik into utter silence when she planted herself on Charles’ lap for much of the conversation. He left out everything to do with his personal connection to the grand threat that was Shaw, which was easy considering she never knew about it to start with, and he simply told her what he told all the others. The danger seeker that she was, she nearly jumped at the chance to be a “real and honest spy” as she put it. It had seemed very James Bond to all of them, not so much real. Even Erik, older and wiser, was caught up in the intrigue of being on the right side of the law for a change and being _allowed_ to sneak his way through the places he was sent. It was one big spy novel and they had all been cast as the specially skilled group sent with spy gadgetry to foil an evil plot. They already made up code names, showing off their naivete.

They gave him a name too. It was fitting considering he had thrown his every waking moment into training them and helping unlock their massive potential; every minute not dedicated to his papers at any rate. He had several degrees too.

Thus far he had avoided all the questions he did not want to answer, everything personal about his reasons for being there. He couldn’t tell them, he really couldn’t. The mere thought of saying a word of it aloud made him physically ill.

His reasons were very simple, even more than Moira or the other agents knew. It made a mess of him. The montra nagging in the back of his head just gets louder when he thinks about it. He wants his brother back, he wants his brother back, hewantshisbrotherbackpleasehejustwants…

“Professor X?” Long curls of polished black tresses peeked through the now open door, dark eyes brighter than they had been months before, and her olive skin a healthy glow at last, “Come eat.”

He steeled himself, quick to smile pleasantly but distinctly guiltily, “Ah, Angel, thank you but I am rather busy. I’m not hungry anyway, but it is good of you to look after me.”

A hand appeared above her head and pushed the door further open to reveal the curly red hair and freckled face of Sean, or Banshee, “That was what you said at lunch, Prof. You’ve been in there all day!”

“The only time you came out was to help Alex train.” Angel gave him a rather disapproving look, crossing her arms over her chest like an angry mother, proving she had been spending exorbitantly more time with Moira than she should.

Charles steepled his fingers and chuckled nervously, “I have work to do.”

“Moira said to make you.” Sean shook his head, voice uneven, still causing Charles to wonder if he was fully through puberty.

They worried, thought he was working too hard. They had a right to feel protective of him because he is their lifeline. It is understandable to latch onto a person or thing that brought them away from bad situations and solitude, offering safety, belonging and acceptance in place of the disregard. He can feel and hear the nagging fears inside their minds and it makes it easy to relent simply to soothe it.

He had heard it in their minds before… calling him their rescuer in no uncertain terms. It was humbling to the point of pain.

They were right in part too. He picked them because they needed him, needed to be saved. The choices he made were more about which of them needed him most than what they could do, but he needed them too. And could he really promise them he could protect them when he was taking them into danger? Angel, for pity sake, was taking her clothing off just to have a place to stay. Alex was alone, felt worthless because he had not lived up to his adoptive family’s wishes, and he was still terrified. Even Hank, poor boy was experimenting on himself and drugging himself just to look normal now that his mutation had become stronger, and there was just something so wrong about him having to do such a thing. Was it really any wonder they came with him so willingly?

Charles arched a single decisive brow at them even if his fight left when their worry resounded in his mind, “Did she now?” He sighed, leaning back in the chair to indicate defeat, “Very well, mummy,” he glanced at Angel, “daddy,” which he directed at Sean. “I will be there in four minutes.”

Sean snickered gleefully but Angel shot him a cunning look full of her usual spice, “Alright, but we will be back if you’re not.”

The door closed and Charles nearly folded in on himself, smile falling. He was morose to say the least, swallowed up by his thoughts, the fear he felt for them, his own doubts, and his grief. They were right, spending so much time to himself was never a good idea. He needed things at a constant motion to keep his mind from straying back to what he had lost. Because, God, it killed him otherwise! He had already made mistakes with them and he knew he would let them down more than once. He always wanted to find more like Patrick, Raven, Hank, and Alex, and he wanted to help offer them what they needed; he never guessed, however, that he would do it without his brother.

It did not help that they were going to Westchester tomorrow. The CIA base was good but it could not compare to the secret little place below ground at his old home. After Alex destroyed a statue and later an entire wing while he and Charles trained, people were beginning to talk. Having those kinds of questions running around when only two humans; the director running the show, and Moira; knew what they were was not ideal. Keeping them safe and away from the eyes of powerful people was a must. While he wanted anything but to return to that old place, he knew it had to be done. The thought of going back had him nearly mad and it only made him remember Patrick all the more.

But he cannot dwell. He must not, will not, has no time, no luxury to dwell on his own pain or fear. He needs to think only of those he is now in charge of because they are so fragile. No matter how old they are or how much ill they have seen from the world they still feel so young to him, his own mind far older than his body ever could be. Their youth is something he needs to protect and shield them from knowing all the things he was forced to learn.

“Charles!” Moira’s distinct voice traveled down the hallway and made him jump bolt upright to his feet.

“Coming!” He called even as he rushed out the door. Three little women in the group to the six men and yet he swore those little creatures had them all whipped, maybe him most of all.

Charles rushed into the tiled and very gray and silver room to find his entire team, save the director that came around very rarely, seated and staring at him. They were buzzing with excitement and it was all tapping away at his senses. They were all old enough to drink but they were such children compared to Moira, Erik, and Charles himself. He wanted to run away but he would not allow himself, settling instead for running a hand roughly through his smooth hair to keep it in its usual orderly fashion. He smiled for them all and instantly went to their large refrigerator to get himself a drink. Soda, though he would have liked something stronger.

“So, Raven tells me you are taking us back to your old home, Charles?” Erik spoke to his back, low dulcet and accented voice speaking so innocently and easily the words that nearly had Charles’ hands shaking.

He was stronger than that. He was, in fact, Professor X. “Yes,” Charles forced cheer into his tone but did not turn around, slowly searching out a tall glass from the cabinet, “indeed I am. Plenty of room for you all there and no prying eyes.” This was something he had seen coming.

“Is it a big house?” Sean asked quickly, more than ready to hear, still so much a little boy at heart… not nurtured nearly enough or given enough to be excited for.

“Quite large.” Charles spoke to the cabinet still, taking his time before sliding back to the icebox, “It was in my family a very long time. No fear though, it is well kept up. Lots of land. There is more than enough solitude for you all to practice without being noticed.”

He knew this talk would come. Even more than that, he knew the old place would catch up to him one day. It was inevitable. But the place was safe and he needed to keep his poor little team safe. Moira had been rather worried about the talk roaming the halls of the near sections and so had he. It was the only solution and it also cut a lot of the ties binding them with the CIA. They all needed this. He just had to keep that  in mind.

"I'm not worried about size." Darwin grinned wide, brushing a hand over his short black curls, "I'm in the room next to Sean." His dark eyes were dancing, white teeth gleaming against his handsome milk-chocolate complexion. "I want to know if it's sound proof, enough to keep his snoring from shaking the walls."

Everyone was chuckling with that and there was a sweet, happy glow to the mood.

"I'm not sure anything could block that out entirely." Charles mused, as if under his breath, but loudly enough for all to hear and it go more laughter.

“Is Patrick going to meet us there?” Raven jumped in, curious and excited and pleased with the idea. She had always liked Patrick’s fire and wild adventuring spirit, untamable as her own.

He felt instant curiosity spring in Darwin, Angel, Sean, and Erik over the mystery person they had never heard of. Erik seemed almost irritated, actually, even accusatory and insulted that someone was coming into the group that Charles told him nothing of. Alex was nothing but a small flash of aggression that vanished as fast as it came, but it was not hard to know why. Worry, however, oozed from Hank while Moira panicked.

Charles nearly gagged, glad his head was already stuck in something cool to help with the wave of nausea followed by her question. “Ah, no, actually.”

“Why not?” There was that familiar pout, the jut of her lower lip he knew well from the past, he could hear it in her tone shift.

“He’s gone.” Charles choked out, mildly aware of how stiff and strained his voice was, but he spun a lie swiftly, “Away… you know. Things of interest, whatever interesting things. You know how that goes.” Or maybe it was more incoherent and rambling; he had a lie in mind but he was not always good at spinning them when he was under stress.

Sean’s mental question was something along the lines of: ‘what could be more interesting than here?’ Moira briefly considered jumping in to help but had no idea how.

Hank and those always analyzing, too astute eyes locked onto Charles the second he turned his head to grin at them all, “Where did he go?” He had decided now was the only time to ask since it had already been brought up, and he was highly suspicious.

Now Erik was irritated because even Hank seemed to know, so how dare Charles say nothing! They played chess every night so he had the chance.

Lord have mercy, everyone was thinking so loudly tonight!

The freezer door shut with more force than probably needed to be placed into it, which was proven by how Angel and Moira both jumped, but Charles put on a relaxed, whimsical, lackadaisical expression that was still a little too tight to come off right, “Not sure.” He lifted his glass and the soda bottle to indicate an utter lack of caring, “Haven’t seen him in five years or so.” Though it rolled off his tongue casually it almost killed him to say it aloud. Five long years of unending worry, anger, and sorrow.

“What-” Alex was starting to speak, leaning up in his chair with eyes turned more intense and curious.

Charles knew the question before it fully formed and he intentionally cut it off, “But, honestly, I am very sure you will all enjoy Westchester. No sharing bathrooms anymore, that will be a perk.” He dropped into the chair and dumped the soda into the glass.

He continued to babble uselessly about the shops near the house that he could take them to. His smiles were wide and his posture loose and intentionally relaxed as he engaged them in conversation. It was not hard to get them laughing even if Moira’s sympathy rolled out of her eyes like well meaning knives tossed at his head and Raven’s features had hardened considerably the way they did when she knew perfectly well she was being told a boldfaced lie. Even so, they all laughed and smiled. Erik even let a few of his wide, all teeth smiles go free and they were not utterly terrifying when his eyes were wrinkled at the corners. They were laughing enough that most of them did not even notice how he pretended to eat, picking at his plate without the ability to stomach putting any into his mouth.

Erik and Moira were the only ones pointedly glancing at his plate through the meal, though he knew Raven noticed as well. They had all gotten irregularly close over the short months they had together; solidarity of being the only ones in on a secret would do that; but they were all a beautifully mismatched family. It was wonderful to see them close but he loathed the way it opened him up to being noticed and having his behavior subtly picked apart. His conversation dodges were not unnoticed totally by any of them because he heard all the little stray worries they let float away.

That made him find an excuse to his office the second the meal was considered over because he needed something stronger to get through the next hours of night and pending day than soda. Scotch was hidden in his little space and he wasted no time diving into the bottle. Hours later though, he was shocked to see Erik. The metalbender casually offered up a game of chess and Charles accepted with a grin and hoped the empty bottle would not give him away so easily. They played well into the night and Erik dug covertly at him for answers most of that time.

The preamble to the killing-blow question was not fully unexpected to a telepath even when inebriated as Erik let the words slide off his tongue, “Raven told us Patrick was your younger brother.”

She did not tell them they were twins? Interesting. Her way of keeping their privacy, he guessed.

“Yes. We all grew up together.” Charles nodded, stealing a knight from Erik with ease even with the fading buzz from alcohol still in his system. “Hank and Alex were in school with us.”

“You were all close, from what she and Hank seemed to indicate.” He lazily moved a rook forward. “So what could make you not speak for more than a few months, Charles? You have never seemed like the sort to hold a grudge, you hardly even get angry. What could he do that would make you hide in here smelling like a brewery?”

Charles lifted his gaze from the black and white pieces, unable to hide the sorrow in his cerulean and moistening eyes, nor the crack in his voice, “I am afraid…” he paused, fingering the smooth surface of his king, pondering what to say, be it truth or lie, “death has a way of hindering communication.”

With that, he tipped his king without looking at Erik before he fled the room. The spark of shock behind him did not make him pause. The door to his little bedroom was welcome as it closed behind him, supporting him as he leaned there, smothering his own sobs before they fully entered his throat.

The first two years had been agony, waiting for a call or a lead without so much as a whisper. The third year he accepted that the police had evidence and swallowed the fact that his brother was dead. Toward the end of the fourth year though, he stopped accepting that as fact because he saw signs everywhere. He never felt the familiar mind but he saw his familiar face on the street, heard his voice in some crowds. It stopped mattering that the only times he really saw him were in dreams or when he was drunk; at some point he lost sight of what he believed and what he did not because he just knew. His brother was dead or maybe he was alive because no one had ever found him.

It did not matter that Patrick confessed to having seen Shaw a few weeks before he vanished or how paranoid he had been during that time. The hangup calls proved nothing. All he wanted was his brother back and he did not care how.  He did not care about any of it! What happened before Patrick disappeared stopped mattering around three nights of waking up alone and finding nothing but a bleeding, raw and severed connection where his twin’s mind had been since the day he could remember anything. Calling himself Onslaught and insisting he was hunting down Shaw’s spies did not matter. Granted, each time the news reported another suicide, Charles was sure he knew exactly what happened, and his twin tactfully denied nothing, but that was inconsequential. The people did not matter! Or, well, they did, because he did care about that, but not as much as he knew he should. It was not Patrick’s fault, it was Shaw’s. Patrick killed people because he frantically insisted they were Shaw’s spies, and maybe he had been right, but that did not matter. There were things he should have cared about but he didn’t.

The tears streaming down Charles' face were not for the people “Onslaught” coerced into taking pills or jumping off bridges, they were for his fractured, frightened, abused twin. Shaw had done that to Patrick and then he had stolen him away. When the leads finally fell into place and Charles realized that Patrick had been right in his paranoia that Shaw was watching them, even though they had run and moved and killed the link they had to him, he knew there was only one person that could have stolen him away.

He would never tell Moira, no one could prove it, and he would let them think his brother was dead, protect him to the end. No one had to know anything beyond the fact that Patrick had seen Shaw shortly before he vanished and they could presume he was dead all they liked. Patrick was not, not, not dead though, he knew that. After so much time with Shaw, he was afraid to think what condition he would be in. Given a little time, if he could find his brother alive, he would be able to fix that. He could repair the damage, save Patrick and go back to the way things were. Wherever Shaw was keeping Patrick, whatever he had done now, Charles would fix. 

Charles would find him and he would fix things. He would fix everything. He would fix Shaw, fix those little ones he had taken in, and he would make everything right. He had to!

* * *

 

**8\. When We Were Children We’d Say**

**That We Don’t Know The Meaning of**

**Fear**

**Wish I Didn’t Know The Meaning of…**

Trying not to let his hands shake, voice waver, or calm expression falter, Charles lead the group down the path. They used one of his old cars to get to the house and be sure no one would follow. The director, their only contact besides Moira, did not even know where they were. It would stay that way, remain secret, hiding his little brewed. The gravel and rock crunched under them as they walked up the driveway. Charles had folded into himself, mental shields pulled tightly around himself to be sure he projected none of his apprehension. He was shuttered and withdrawn but most did not really notice, too interested in the massive grounds. Most of them had never seen an estate this size; even Alex with his rich adoptive family.

Charles lead and Moira headed up the back like two parents keeping chicks protected. There were times it felt something like that. Not so much with Erik, he was almost an entity unto himself, but the telepath was still protective. They were equals but it took nothing away from the sense of responsibility for bringing in the metalbender. Of course, Erik was rather protective in return.

All eyes were wide as they stared at the mansion looming over them all, but Darwin with his huge rueful grin broke the revere, “Put me on one end and Sean on the other and ‘ll never hear him snore again.”

Alex was more composed, the biting edge he always held very close still locked in place, “You never told us we should have been calling you ‘your majesty.’”

Charles shoved his hands deep into his pockets and offered a tight lip smile, tone as playful as he could muster, “Careful, I might get a complex. You would regret it if I began walking the halls in a cape.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if that was all you were wearing, Charles.” Raven slid over to nudge him with her shoulder, letting a purr free for dramatics, eyes shining with devilish glee at so thoroughly gaining the instant amusement from the group and his mortification.

A few jaws dropped at her sheer boldness, but that was what Raven loved best; reactions. Her wink at Hank nearly made the tall, lanky figure turn inside out.

“It’s getting a little racy around here.” Erik muttered dryly, his sarcastic jibes always present to even out the more flamboyant in the group.

Charles could not help the way his entire face heated before he cleared his throat, ignoring the muffled chorus of amusement and Darwin’s wolf whistle, “Anyway…Uh, here it is.” Raven effectively shattered the ice at least, and he had a vague feeling that was what she was trying for.

“It’s amazing, Professor. Very lovely.” Moira was smiling but she seemed almost embarrassed for him, “How old is it?”

“Quite.” Charles squared his shoulders a regained his composure, stubbornly unflinching, “It was passed through my father’s family for centuries.” The smile had dropped but he kept his expression pleasant.

“So this is really yours?” Sean was leaning in, sounding like a boy introduced to a candy store for the first time, always the easiest to impress.

Charles shook his head, looking at the monster of stone and bricks, “It’s ours.” He could stand it if he thought of it that way, be detached.

They began to walk, moving toward it and Erik moved in closer, a wolfish grin on his face accompanied by a sidelong look, “Honestly, Charles, I don't know how you survived, living in such hardship.” There was good humor there; Erik was trying to lure Charles from what had been a long stretch of him giving only forced, short answers; but Raven had been trying to shake him out of his subdued attitude as well. There was equally a bit of prodding for information, not satisfied with not having all the answers. The German and Englishman had spent enough time together for the older man to notice something different but there was a tiny hint of real bitterness in the undercurrent. From a man that had to steal and fight for what he gained in life, it was perfectly understandable.

Had it been another time, walking toward a different place, he could have come up with something better but the swelling sickness in him made that challenging; as it was he only cocked his head to one side, shrugging one shoulder passively, “Spiriting bottles from the liquor cabinet and copious amounts of tea, maybe?” Charles laughed but it did not quite sound natural.

Hank bumped his way a little closer to Charles as if offering some kind of support. Several of the others chuckled, especially Sean, but Erik only eyed him. When they neared the front door Charles was nearly running, stubbornly looking anywhere but the bloody fountain, dry and overgrown though it was. Having to pass it got him legitimately shaky and he fumbled a little with the keys, shaking them out when he dug them from his pocket.

“You have a fountain?” Angel sounded so delighted and it made him wish he could be glad for her, “I always wanted to have one in the yard when I was a kid.”

“Does it still work?” Darwin asked, leaning over it, plucking at the weeds.

“Probably.” Charles hated how shrill his answer was and hated more how his hands were shaking enough that he could not find the right key. God, why did it have to be in the front?

Hank moved in at his left while Erik still flanked his right like some kind of bodyguard. Erik had learned about people, postures, tones, and temperament shifts to know something was wrong and he was almost sticking close enough to shove Charles through the door. He was desperate to know why and the questions rolled off him even if Charles shut most of them out. Hank was different but no less observant. No doubt he could smell the chemical change brought on by the stress and fear creating a maelstrom in Charles. He would pull himself together though, he absolutely would!

Hank leaned in, almost close enough to touch his chest to Charles’ shoulder, the articulate and careful words spoken softly, “You never expected to return, did you?” It was spoken less like a question and more like a declaration but Hank rarely was so blunt as to not make things optional.

Charles shoved the key into the lock and twisted it vengefully, “No, I cannot say that I did. Life has a way of surprising us though, right?”

The others took their time, examining things as they went. It was enthralling to them and he was glad on that account. It was nice to be able to offer them that at least. When he flung the door open though, he was thankful for Hank and Erik staying close as he lead the group in, walked them all through the main floors. Long white dust cloths covered every surface and there was considerable amounts of dirt that drifted in from its disuse, but no windows had been broken. All was well and in order. Once they removed the covers from things the house would be livable. There was canned food they could live on until they stocked the icebox. He had started the generators and turned the electric on already though. The house was self sustaining and that was fortunate.

Charles felt like a flight attendant and sounded like one too as he gave them the tour with utter detachment, offering up facts about the structure like a living encyclopedia. He was proud of how evenly he kept himself, poised without a single hint of hysteria. He even got through a quick explanation of how his father had been a scientist and avid experimenter when he took them to the lower levels. He kept his sanity all this time by compartmentalizing. He was able to smile and be naive, as people called him, because he could box things up inside himself and shut them out. Smiles and jokes were easier if he locked away anything painful until he felt safe enough. Charles did not even flinch when he opened the secret door and took them down below the house. The laps in front of the house would not continue because he was much too strong for that.

Charles was detached, letting himself be utterly numb as he walked them about, “This is where much of your training can take place. The walls are reinforced and sound proof along with being drilled into the rock.  Obviously Hank can conduct any number of tasks in the lab sections. All perfectly safe.”

Safe, yes, it was safe now. Shaw would never look for them here and Kurt was dead.

They were lifting sheets and coverings off all around him, pulling aside fabric to reveal the various metal surfaces and tools. As more and more was revealed he felt his resolve chip and splinter in tiny sections. He was rather glad he had not bothered to eat that morning or the night before otherwise keeping his urge to vomit down might have been much harder. Charles wished they would leave it as it was but he dared not voice his feelings or give himself away. Something in him could not stand for them to know, balked at the thought in horror. Those secrets had been kept so long he did not know what he would do if they were set free now. They had all been terribly scorned and mistreated, that was a fact, but not reduced to lab animals with no more value than what chemical reactions or scans their torture could produce, stripped completely of their humanity, so they would not understand the shame attached to that truth.

Patrick and Charles had covered everything, hiding it away and creating a burial ground for the unpleasant past. Like robots on a mission, they locked everything away and covered every surface as their own way of declaring that part of their lives over. Charles smiled bitterly to himself as he watched it all being exhumed.

Hank and Erik unearthed the two metal examination tables sitting side by side at the same time, drooping the sheets to the floor. As Hank’s eyes traveled back and forth between the tables his line of thought was almost visible. The way his sharp mind ticked away, doing the math, working the potentials was almost like watching a humanized computer pull forth information. Something in his expression, the widening of his eyes behind those black glasses, slowly dawning horror, made Charles want to bolt up the stairs and to the car. It was Erik, however, that noticed the restraints attached and tugged at the leather absently; or at least he was the first to comment on it.

“What sort of tests require the subject to be strapped down?” Erik looked up, pinning Charles to the wall with his cold and intense eyes.

“My stepfather brought those in.” Charles spoke evenly, monotone, “I have no idea where he found them. I am sure those can be removed, the tables won’t need them.”

As if that had been permission given, the metal bolts holding those straps in place fell to the floor with the leather and buckles. The loudness of the fall made Charles jump, flattening his back to the wall as he stared at the piles now around the two men’s feet. It took him a considerable amount of time to pry his eyes away from the floor and shove himself from his attempts to merge with the cold metal wall. Without a word, he moved ahead, joining the others as they explored farther ahead and he simply resumed his task of emotionless guide. The three girls fell in at his side, listening as he gave them all the technical information. Cold information was something he could endure.

“What is this thing?”

Charles turned his head to the side to see Sean tugging back another sheet, reaching high over his head to stare at the hidden item. The gasp that left the telepath was unplanned but he could not help it any more than he could stop his eyes from widening in panic. One side was visible, the lock dangling from the handle of the windowless metal door. That had been his side, in fact, his door into hell in a tiny box just large enough to turn around in and stretch his arms out if he pressed his back the wall and palms on the door. It looked medieval and if any of them opened the door or uncovered the matching side they would have a fair idea what it was used for.

Being detached was rather difficult when all his mind could do was bring up the memory of the first time he was shoved inside and the pain, terror, horror, darkness, agony, silence, void, pain, accompanied by the echoing sound of his own screams. His world was already spinning, leaving him light headed.

“Please, don’t touch that! Please!” It had not been a command but there was enough telepathic suggestion in it for three subjects; Charles’ hand was stretched out as if to will the youth into obedience, which he actually could, but he did not trust himself.

Sean dropped the fabric like he had been burned, eyes huge as they turned on Charles. Judging by the tense expressions around him, something had bled through his shields, especially seeing as Sean gingerly touched his temple with a tiny wince. Oh, it was the pain, the phantom memory of agony, of course. He heard the mumbled “sorry, Prof” but hardly noticed as he snaked an arm around the thin shoulders and guided Sean for the stairs. His sudden announcement that it should be time to eat something might have come as a surprise, especially since he was more or less shouting it over his shoulder without daring to look at any of them, but he did not care. It had been a long day and he wanted it to be finished.

No one spoke of the miniature catastrophe or asked a single question about it. There were some little glances exchanged but Charles kept his shields closed tightly, hearing only the most pressing of the questions; wonderings on why he would slip considering the flash of pain felt by each person in the room had been an obvious projection even if they were unsure of what. They moved on as if nothing ever happened, offering him privacy and forgiveness; according to Moira, there was nothing to forgive, she kept mentally poking at him with that prevailing intent and the knowledge that he would hear it. Alex was even slightly encouraged because if someone that held such control over their powers could slip, that did not make his slips so out of the question. Charles shook it all off, intent to think it over later and quietly resolving to conquer such an issue to ensure it did not happen again.

Which was why he crawled his way back to the hidden level once it was dark. Making his way down alone made his legs shake enough that he clung like a newborn to the rails, but he did make it. Once there, he rather lost himself in the loops of sounds and voices he once knew to inhabit the place, seeing them now as ghosts. Time was lost on him as his sense of calm vaporized the longer he hid inside.

Charles blinked rapidly, forcing focus back. He curled his knees up to his chest as he stared passively at the sheet covered box shape. There was so much pain and terror mixed up with that box but if he was going to hide mutants in the old house, he had to overcome it. Coming down in the middle of the night was his only solution. The original thought was to immerse himself in his fear by sitting in it with the door open to show himself that the danger was long passed, but shoving the sheet part of the way over was as far as he had been able to follow that idea.

Instead, he settled on simply sitting across from it so that at least the sight of it would stop causing him to feel the same fear he felt when first being locked inside. The two compartments were tall but not particularly wide, enough to comfortably sit on the metal coated inside while the door was locked tight. It was sound proof and airtight with a vent that cycled air in every so often. There was a light in the top as well but there were no other forms of light, no windows or cracks in the door; when the light was off it was pitch black.

After around twenty minutes he had been able to breathe normally and stop shaking. That much stress was draining and he felt how heavy his eyelids were but he had no interest in falling asleep. If ever there was a place he was sure to have nightmares to the enth degree, it would be here. Now he simply sat with his fingers balled into fists, lips pressed thin. Charles would never forget when Shaw brought it. He had the audacity to be happy and excited, treating it like a gift. The sharp smile never vanished as he explained how he made it especially for them using the data Kurt had collected as well as his own. It would have seemed more like an excited parent telling a child about a birthday surprise if not for the pending doom of having to be test subjects.

Without really planning to, he was on his feet again, heading shakily and swiftly for the steps. Letting himself think about the worst torture of his entire life was not a thing he had any wish to continue. He faced it, that was enough. Now his head was pounding and he was not sure if it was from the stress or from the memory of the pain but it was unpleasant either way. Headaches were no stranger to him though. Pain was no stranger, for that matter, but he dared not follow that too closely. So long as he kept the memories away he was relatively calm, but they were coming back.  

It was time enough spent with those horrors and once he was safely away, panting like he had run ten miles, he tottered to the nearest couch and laid himself out. He tossed an arm up over his eyes and worked to relax himself, just glad the others were in bed. There was a great amount of training to be done tomorrow and he warned them of it. So much to do and not nearly enough time. Each day felt like sand slipping away from him because it was just one more day Shaw would have.

He dropped his arm over his head irritably and rubbed his fingers over his closed lids. It felt like his insides were being eaten away by ants and he could hardly hold still even if he was too tired to fight with it; it felt like going mad, which could have been true. There were times he questioned his own minds grasp on reality and logic but he could hope he had not actually lost touch just yet. His eyes fell shut and he swore to open them again but he was drowned by tiredness before he really knew it. Though his body twitched and struggled to maintain alertness, the battle was lost in rather short order, forcing him down to a place he did not wish to go. That place was dark and terrifying; it was where he nearly let himself slip away and it was the day he saw something in his twin shatter.

Charles knew he was dreaming as the world of that night focused around him but it did not take long for him to forget as Shaw stared down his hawk nose at him, wearing a helmet on his head. Fear so strong it pricked of pain vibrated in his gut as he stared at Kurt and that matching helmet planted on his head. Patrick's hands were cuffed behind his back but he still struggled in their stepfather’s hold. No bindings hand been placed on his wrists but Shaw’s fingers dug into Charles’ arms like a vice he could not shake.

In all his life, he had never felt as helpless as he did while watching his brother be dragged to the door swung wide beside him. They could only stare at each other, fighting a battle against grown men. Kurt was made of big, strong stock, but Charles was shocked to discover how vastly he underestimated the second even though he was so much taller. In this situation, to save Patrick, Charles would have braved those two dark, sticky, poisonous minds, but he could not even feel them now. It was like watching a movie and seeing people move on screen, or sitting on the floor in front of a stand to watch a puppet show. There was no mind, no familiar thrum and drone of life at all, and it might well have been the most terrifying either twin had ever seen the men before them.

Patrick was a frantic mess of wild pulsing fear, dread and worry in his mind. They were each forced backward and made to step back blindly into their half of the box. Patrick was screaming for Charles even though it was hard to tell if it was aloud or in their bond, but it was useless either way. They were shoved hard into the wall at the same time, vertigo crashing over both twins in a shared sensation before the doors were swung shut, locks clicking into place. Then, suddenly, as if cut by the swing of an ax, there was nothing at all, not a stray thought or sensation from his twin.

His hands flew to his head as he reached in an absolute terror slamming himself instinctively against the wall he knew his twin would be near. Once he reached, the gaping void seemed to be forced open wide, exactly like a deep cut that does not instantly bleed, and pain flooded every corner of his mind. It was silent inside his mind, like becoming deaf in an instant and all he knew was grief coiled anguish as his mind lashed against itself and the feeling of it reaching out like roots desperate of water only to be chopped away.  His brain might as well have been cut in half and he was so very sick. It took time for him to realize he was screaming at the top of his lungs, rocking back and forth as he held his head in his hands, but he hardly cared as the burning fire raced through his every synapse. He could only think of it as white hot fire eating away the roots and traveling up to a tree, or perhaps like having his brain removed and scrubbed raw with steel wool.

It might have taken hours for him to really become aware of how his body twitched and shook as he lie on the floor curled into the fetal position, or that his voice was gone to nothing but squeaks and wheezing, but he eventually quieted. He was possibly in shock and he understood that he had no choice but to calm himself. Once he was set free, the bond would be back and he would hear his brother again, the cut away half of his mind. Charles calmed himself by assuring his mind that it would be over soon. Though he had been cut off, his mind smashed into a tiny space when it was used to freedom and a shared existence, it would not last forever.

He began to trace the checkered pattern in the metal with his fingers to distract himself, but then the light screwed into the roof flickered. Charles went stiff, sitting bolt upright as he looked at the single dim light and begged it not to give out. It flickered again twice before plunging him into darkness. He could not stop himself from screaming again even in his broken voice.

Now there was truly nothing. No sound, no light, no existence. He was alone and for all his mind could tell him, there was absolutely nothing anywhere. He reached again for his twin only to pull back in pain and a new sense of emptiness he had never known before. Patrick had always been with him but now he was simply gone. For all he could honestly say, his brother might be dead. That thought was shaken away quickly and he assured himself it would never be true. Charles struggled to keep taking breaths as he felt the void strangling him. Sensory deprivation was a torture technique; he read about it once in a pilfered journal from a teacher, though the article had been speaking about normal human minds rather than a telepath. This was a test to see what would happen to a telepath with control over their ability after being stripped of that power and being isolated within the tiny space of silent death. While he had no idea what his mind might do once freed he knew he needed to prepare for the second shock of being set free. His powers might go wild if he did not calm himself first. Thinking logically helped ease the pain pulsing with each beat of his heart because he had something to focus on, and focus he did. There was nothing else to do other than go insane as time dragged on. He counted seconds at one point but stopped once it started his panic again. He would be calm and he would remain in control.

The door suddenly swung open and he felt blind as he tried desperately to see, his mind diving out and grasping for any sign of life. He found Cain and a few servants but he felt nothing from the two sets of hands dragging him forward, so he tried harder, instinctively reaching, but suddenly there were too many voices and too loud. That was a new pain, intense and too much, but it felt better than the black void even though it rendered his body useless.

Before he could gather his mind enough to feel his own body rather than the hundreds of others he found he was strapped to a familiar table. His hands and ankles were clamped to the sides, a strap run across his knees, two over his back, and one over his shoulders. He was face down, his head held fast in a sort of pillow to let him breath with that too held him stationery. Smooth fingers; Shaw’s because Kurt’s were calloused; ran over his bare skin, tracing his spine gently. The hand splayed out over the small of his back and he trembled, working very hard to fight his way out of his bonds without a modicum of success.

“Now, now, Charles,” He chastised quietly, “just relax. You are very strong, more than I expected, and your talent is astounding. The readings prove that. I hazard a guess that half the town near here were struck with sudden and unexplained illness because of you.”

The hand moved to stroke the back of his head and Charles growled weakly in protest.

“Patrick is physically much stronger than you are but his powers are less. We let him out before you.”

The news had Charles frantically reaching, clawing for the link and feeling nothing familiar. “Where is he?” His voice could have belonged to a long term smoker but he struggled anew to lift his head and see any signs of what had happened.

“But do you know what that means?” Shaw persisted.

“Where is Patrick? What did you do to him?” Charles spit the words with more force.

Shaw continued as if hearing nothing, “It means you are the more interesting of two right now. There is so much you and I need to do together!” He was petting again and sounding very pleased, “I’ll be gentle but it will hurt a little, you understand, I need quite a lot of samples from you.”

There was metallic rattling and Charles did not have to think hard over what it meant. Surgical instruments were being moved and picked up. He had heard it before. The questions were not nearly finished though, and he was determined to get answers. Even the strongest resolve could be broken temporarily though. The puncture in his back was felt but something very long shoving roughly into the pelvic bone was felt much more keenly. Charles shrieked, unprepared for the intensity and feeling of his bone giving and the needle sinking into the core. In a hospital they numbed the area before removing marrow samples. Kurt had done it once.

“Next is lumbar puncture, fluoroscopy if needed to get the spinal fluid. I will administer a few chemical tests on you after collection.” Shaw muttered conversationally, “And we might do a stereotactic brain biopsy, but you would be sedated. That would be after all the others though.”

The young Xavier was proud, but the whine he let free would have been hard pressed to prove it. Something else punctured his skin but he was unsure what, though it set to work scraping bone. It did not take long before they were both hovering over him, muttering hypothesis and voicing ideas. It also did not take them long to reduce him to screaming tears, incoherently babbled pleas and drown him in unending pain; they set his nerves on fire as they cut their samples and drained away his blood before pumping things into him. They broke two of his fingers and he had no idea why. The world lost clarity, blurring and swirling in colors and horrible sensation in short order and he nearly forgot his own name. Even his ears were ringing while his body twitched without control.

Somewhere in the middle he got the notion they were testing endurance to pain in connection to Patrick, but he could not think clearly enough to understand anything beyond the fact that his brother was alive though not in reach. They drowned him and he could not breathe, gasping and choking on his pain; and for all he knew, they did drown him at some point because he was moved as the world shifted in and out of black. It was still horrifically foreign to feel them with his body only. It let him know they were there even though everything else he knew told him that he was alone, his mind feeling nothing from them but he was too tired to search for anyone else. It made him question his own livelihood, because he could have been in hell and dead for all he knew. He really only knew he hurt and he did not even know when he was awake and when he was gone.

But after centuries of of timeless solitude he felt the rush of familiarity, a warmth swallowing his mind and the raw ends of the bond reformed and pumped with life. He could breathe again, he realized, someone else taking breaths for him. Then there were gentle, trembling hands on his face and a tentative voice that shook horribly for uttering only one word, “Charles?” The face above was blurred and unfocused but recognizable just the same.

His lips would not move and his tongue was lead and dry, but his mind answered weakly with relief, _Patrick…_

There was a rush of alarm and horror, but the mental brushes were as gentle as a feather, _Are you alright? What did they do to you? What did they do to you?_

Charles had a notion he would not be able to form any kind of sentence even in his own mind because everything was too difficult so he could only repeat something similar and lace it with all his worry and thankfulness at not being alone, _Patrick… you're... alright... I worried_

 _You were worried?_ Came the frantic higher pitch that indicated he would be crying if those had been verbal, but the feeling of hopeless fear came across anyway, _God, Charles, you're the one-_

“Could you feel any of those injuries before we let you out?” Shaw sounded close but Charles was aware that his eyes had fallen shut but he worked them open again.

The glare on Patrick’s face could have devoured an army, “No! I felt nothing and heard nothing. You locked me up!” The admission seemed to taste bitter in some way but there was enough venom in the words to melt through flesh and bone. Wisely, he did not say any of the choice words he wanted to out of worry that it would make them more angry.

“Some twins can feel each others pain even from across the country.” Shaw muttered, “But it is possible that you two have relied on your telepathic link too much for whatever connection that requires to have formed.”

Kurt was suddenly there, jerking Patrick back, “Then we will try again.”

Seeing his twin struggling, shrieking in rage and dread filled Charles with unimaginable terror. He just got him back! They could not take him away! Besides, he did not know what they would do to his brother next if he could not see. What they were all shouting was too jumbled to understand but none of it sounded good. Patrick was fighting and snarling like a wild animal but he was still not a match for the older men, they all knew that.

Charles shifted to his side and the motion sent pain up and down his body with vengeance, popping his hip back into socket, making his vision spot and star but he did not fully register it. His unbroken fingers were at his temple and he reached with what little strength he had, trying to inch his way into Kurt’s mind under the helmet long enough to force him away. It felt like burning his mind to try touching it but he felt the desperation to drive him; Patrick screaming for him made him desperate.

But there was no response, not even a twitch. Instead, Patrick was wrestled into the box again and with the slamming door came the snap of the bond. Charles did not know he was still able to make a sound when the scream tore from him. The pain had been mostly bearable when he was still but with the second break to the healing bond it no longer was and all he could do was scream.

“Professor, wake up!”

Charles started, eyes flying open and body lashing out at the hands holding him. It took him a long moment as his mind probed in desperation at the two minds with him until he reconnected to reality. Names came to the terrified faces gawking at him as he fell back onto the couch, withdrawing his mental presence. Startling awake a telepth might not be the best idea for anyone but they were lucky he kept a gentle touch. Hank placed a nearly shaking hand to Charles’ forehead while Darwin stayed leaning over the back of the couch clinging to his arm. For a moment all they did was breathe and let their hearts begin to beat normally.

The words left dry lips before Charles fully knew what he asked but he knew he needed to know, “What did you see?”

“Nothing, Professor,” Hank whispered apprehensively, shaking his head, “nothing.”

“We just heard you down here and came to check on you.” Darwin confirmed, sounding more shaky than he might have before.

There was a nagging something telling Charles they were lying but he did not have the strength to contradict. Part of him wanted to simply dive into their mind, they felt cool and warm at once. Of course, he had a feeling he already had a little too much contact with their minds. Darwin circled around until he was beside Hank, both of them staring down at him like he as death warmed over. It was much too tiring to think and he did not resist as the two of them tugged him into a sitting position.

“What did you hear?” Charles ask, voice tight and groggy.

“You… screaming.” Hank shook his head, eyes fixed on Charles with the deepest sympathy he had seen in a while, “But don’t worry, it wasn’t very loud. No one else heard.”

What came over him, he had no idea, but a bitter laugh left him as he tipped his head back into the cushions, “Well, I guess I must be home then. This house has heard me scream more times than laugh.” He glanced at both of them and grinned, the sort of smile he saw on Patrick at times, a little manic, “But if you were close to me while I was panicking like a child, I suppose you saw that.”

A hand squeezed his shoulder in a very comforting, paternal gesture, “Professor, that is only our business if you want to tell us.” Darwin spoke seriously and astoundingly gentle, “If you want to talk, we’re right here, but if you’re not ready, we won’t make you.”

His brows twitched in a slight stricken and sad frown as he stared up at them, shocked by how much older they looked by lamp light, “I...I’m actually just very tired. I’m so tired.” He managed to smile sheepishly even with half lidded eyes, “I haven’t slept well in years, but I think I might tonight since I’ve got two strong protectors in the house.”

Though he was wobbly, they helped him up, letting him hang onto their arms. Actually he felt very small when they pulled him up the steps and took him to his room like an infant. It took him quite a lot of effort to shield all his inner turmoil and let them walk away after shoving him onto the bed.

His hands were shaking and his head hurt and throbbed from the memory. Unintentionally he kept prodding that fragile and still raw place deep in his mind where the root of a connection once was. It was scared from the abuse in the past and now it was a deep wound that hurt to go near. The frayed edges still called out, screaming for the one that formed with it, and unless he intentionally blocked out the wailing call he could always hear it. His own mind screamed and joined with the static and noise of all the other voices.

 ****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these were long sections. Hope you enjoyed anyway.


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